


It's Got a Good Beat and You Can Dance To It

by sabinelagrande



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 700 Stories Aw Yeah, Awkward Boners, Dancing, F/M, Flirting, Humor, Melinda May Is a Troll, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 20:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2401232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All they have to do is get from one side of the room to the other. Simple, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Got a Good Beat and You Can Dance To It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JeziBelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeziBelle/gifts).



> For Dixie, who asked for Phil and Melinda dancing while undercover at a party, and who has certainly known me long enough to know she should be careful what she wishes for.
> 
> My 700th story at the AO3! \o/ Whether or not that's a good thing, I leave for you to decide.

"Give me three good reasons Skye is not here," Melinda says, just loud enough to be heard over the music. "Or I am going to walk out that door and leave you here."

"Um, well," Phil says. "One, Skye thinks the DJ might recognize her."

Melinda rolls her eyes; Phil shares her opinion, but it doesn't seem like the right time to encourage her. Skye was at a party with the DJ one time six years ago, and the chance of her having _any_ clue who Skye might be is remote at best. Then again, it's Skye; Skye sometimes has a way of making herself hard to forget.

"Two," Phil continues, trying to find something else. "Please don't leave me," he blurts, unable to come up with anything.

"That's not a reason," Melinda says.

"It's a wholehearted plea," Phil says. "Besides, we've come this far. What's a little more?"

"If they start playing Skrillex, I'm out of here," Melinda says.

"What's a Skrillex?" Phil asks.

She sighs. "Let's just do this and be done with it," she says. "My makeup is starting to run into my eyes."

"I told you to use the stuff," Phil says, as they start to make their way towards the edge of the crowd. It's huge; this is, he is informed, one of the biggest house music parties in the US, and he would have liked to have known exactly what that meant. "The stuff in the spray bottle."

"If you're talking about the setting spray, I did," Melinda says. "It's not helping." She stops, looking at the crowd. "How does this even work?"

"I don't have any idea," he says. 

They need to get from point A to point B, and going through the mass of people is their best bet. He just doesn't really understand what's going on out there. People are dancing, he thinks, but they're not really dancing _together_. Most of them are just standing in one place, moving to the music; some of them look so high that Phil's not sure they remember how to walk right now. If they were moving around, he and Melinda could slip through, but as it stands, it looks like they'd have to start throwing elbows to get anywhere.

"I hate being old people," Phil says with a sigh.

"Got it," Melinda says, grabbing him by the wrist. "Follow my lead."

He spots what she's found; there's a group of people near the wall who are a bit more lively. They're moving together, with more than a little bit of grinding on each other. Phil isn't thrilled by the idea of jumping in, but this he can deal with. He's not a master of this particular art form, but it's not exactly rocket science. You just try to get as close as possible to having sex with your clothes on as you can without getting arrested. That he can do.

Then he realizes who he's about to be grinding all over, and it seems like a _very_ bad idea.

This isn't the time to chicken out, though. Melinda drags him into the crowd, grinning at him; it is very confusing for a minute before he remembers that, oh yeah, this is a mission, it was okay to half-ass it when they were standing by the wall in the dark, but now people are very close and looking right at them, so he should probably act like he's having a good time. He grins back at her, letting her pull him into the knot of people who are- undulating? He thinks they're probably undulating. Most of them are lost in their own little worlds, but the other ones have the look of the truly high, the look that says they love the entire universe and want everyone to share their love. He didn't think hippies liked techno, but here we are.

He's not distracted for long. Melinda pulls him close and just plasters herself to him, her back to his front; Phil almost dies of shock, but he keeps it together, putting his hands on her hips. The bass of the music is still pounding, but it's slower, steadier, more conducive to dancing that isn't just jumping up and down. There are other people moving around, dancing on whoever, but Melinda is making it blatantly obvious by her body language that there is no interrupting her and Phil. Phil is intensely grateful for that, because the last thing he needs is to get pulled into something, to have to disentangle himself from someone or find Melinda if she gets sucked in by somebody else.

The problem with it is that she's _right there_ , all over him, and she's writhing. There is _definitely_ writhing going on, and he's not exactly made of stone.

Parts of him are certainly getting there, though.

Still and yet, they're working. The swaying motion of the crowd makes it look natural when they start taking small steps, moving a little at a time towards their destination. And anyway, nobody who sees them would possibly notice that they're making a linear progression; they'd be too distracted by Melinda, who's moving her whole body to the music like it's second nature.

"When did you get so good at this?" Phil asks.

"If you never snuck out of the Academy to go dancing, I'm really ashamed of you," she tells him.

"Dancing's not exactly my favorite," Phil says. He snuck out about a billion times; mostly it was just to get drunk in the woods. He's never been very creative.

"Doesn't have to be," Melinda says, reaching back and putting her arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. "You're the man. You're just a prop."

"I'm flattered," Phil deadpans.

"Only twenty more yards to go," she says.

"You're shitting me," he says; it feels like they've been doing this for about a year, and if he could just sprint for it he would. She moves her hips just so, and he hisses, trying not to flinch away from her and make it completely obvious to everyone around them what she's doing to him. If she were doing it with intent, he would be all about it, it would be great, but as it stands, they're halfway through an undercover mission and his cock is getting harder by the second.

"What is it?" Melinda says, her tone all business, and it's not surprising to him that she can snap her focus back in an instant.

He leans down to speak into her ear, his lips almost brushing her skin. "Don't take this the wrong way," he says, though he's really not sure there's a right way to take it, "but you are _directly_ on my dick."

"I know," she says, deliberately grinding back against him again.

He loves her like this, he really does, because he remembers when she was like this all the time. She used to be warm, funny, playful; she used to know how to relax. It's so very rare to see it now, and he wants to do everything he can to prolong it, to let her enjoy it, to just give her some space to be herself, the way she was.

However, he also wants to not be in a giant crowd of people with a massive erection.

"If we could speed this up, that would be great," Phil says, aware his voice is getting a little strained.

"Having trouble?" Melinda says, though she is moving them faster, working them towards their goal. She grinds on him one more good time before she steps away, grabbing his wrist and slipping into an opening in the crowd. He follows, playing the dopey boyfriend who can't believe his luck and can't wait to get home; he knows it looks natural, because other than the boyfriend part, he is not at _all_ pretending.

"I am going to remember this," Phil says, though he doesn't think it comes out as threatening as he intended it to.

"I'm sure you will," Melinda says, with a snort. "We're almost there," she says, and now her tone is more serious; he knows she's coming out of it, her mind going back to the mission. She's coming back from wherever she went, the good place that she was in there for a minute. It hurts a little more every time it happens, and Phil isn't sure why.

"Got it," Phil says, palming the tracker he has tucked into his back pocket. Soon they'll tag the right person, get the right intel, and it'll be done.

Melinda stops suddenly, quickly enough that Phil almost walks into her. She turns, and without warning she pulls him down, kissing him. He's so shocked that he can't do anything but kiss her back, flailing for a second before wrapping his arms around her.

She pulls away. "Don't forget."

He cannot think of a single thing to say.

"Ready?" she says, and he nods. "Then let's do it."

They emerge from the other side of the crowd and get back to work.

Phil does _not_ forget.


End file.
